Resting Place
My son has an all too ready sense of humour at times. On Sunday evening as I stood here taking in the final moments of my view before racing home to episode 5 of Line of Duty I sent a message to my children. It said quite simply - "one day, but not quite yet hopefully, you can spread my ashes here." I'm not sure why the thought hadn't occurred to me before. This place always makes me feel uncontrollably happy you see. It's had the same effect upon me year in year out since I was first brought here as a teenager more than forty years ago, and it's one of the reasons why I keep coming back with the camera again and again to add yet another image to the ever growing Godrevy album in my Flickr stream.
My daughter responded in kind. It's her local beach and she's one of that growing number of people who swims all year round no matter how cold it is - quite often in the waters here. We've planned to meet up here tomorrow after work - fortunately for photography rather than water sports as it's far too early in the year for me to be donning the wetsuit and racing into the sea. My son's reply was altogether more predictable and to the point. "Rightio. I have a week off coming up, so can be arranged," came the not unexpected witticism. I really need to have another look at my will.
Much of Sunday had been spent in a very similar manner to the days beforehand, during which I'd been on annual leave. The weather has been cold, but clear and calm, meaning that our favoured position next to the garage wall in our loungers had brought the annual garden sunbathing season to an early start. It was only at the last hour that I decided I was going to make a visit to Godrevy for a completely different sunset image that never materialised thanks to the bank of cloud you see on the left hand side of this one. Undeterred by this setback I stayed to enjoy the waves breaking on the rocks below me and take unusable photographs of them. Well they're unusable at the moment but I might change my mind about them later of course. Slowly I strolled back towards the car park, thinking of my dinner and trying to remember what had happened in the previous episode of Line of Duty - I really need a notebook for that series. At various tried and tested vantage points I stopped and turned, just to watch, noticing the line of cloud radiating out to the left of the lighthouse. By the time I arrived here another line of cloud was heading across the sky on the opposite side, with a lovely pink glow just above Godrevy itself.
At moments like this it's almost impossible to tear oneself away from a scene as calm and beautiful as this, no matter how hungry you are nor how much you're looking forward to another hour of splendid confusion in front of the television. But it was Sunday evening and almost 9pm - and the dreaded return to a new term at work awaited me the following morning so dutifully I retraced those final yards to my car and headed home.
Another week is more than halfway through and an evening with the wide angle lens beckons on the beach at low tide tomorrow. All is well in my contented little world. Happy hump day folks.
Resting Place
My son has an all too ready sense of humour at times. On Sunday evening as I stood here taking in the final moments of my view before racing home to episode 5 of Line of Duty I sent a message to my children. It said quite simply - "one day, but not quite yet hopefully, you can spread my ashes here." I'm not sure why the thought hadn't occurred to me before. This place always makes me feel uncontrollably happy you see. It's had the same effect upon me year in year out since I was first brought here as a teenager more than forty years ago, and it's one of the reasons why I keep coming back with the camera again and again to add yet another image to the ever growing Godrevy album in my Flickr stream.
My daughter responded in kind. It's her local beach and she's one of that growing number of people who swims all year round no matter how cold it is - quite often in the waters here. We've planned to meet up here tomorrow after work - fortunately for photography rather than water sports as it's far too early in the year for me to be donning the wetsuit and racing into the sea. My son's reply was altogether more predictable and to the point. "Rightio. I have a week off coming up, so can be arranged," came the not unexpected witticism. I really need to have another look at my will.
Much of Sunday had been spent in a very similar manner to the days beforehand, during which I'd been on annual leave. The weather has been cold, but clear and calm, meaning that our favoured position next to the garage wall in our loungers had brought the annual garden sunbathing season to an early start. It was only at the last hour that I decided I was going to make a visit to Godrevy for a completely different sunset image that never materialised thanks to the bank of cloud you see on the left hand side of this one. Undeterred by this setback I stayed to enjoy the waves breaking on the rocks below me and take unusable photographs of them. Well they're unusable at the moment but I might change my mind about them later of course. Slowly I strolled back towards the car park, thinking of my dinner and trying to remember what had happened in the previous episode of Line of Duty - I really need a notebook for that series. At various tried and tested vantage points I stopped and turned, just to watch, noticing the line of cloud radiating out to the left of the lighthouse. By the time I arrived here another line of cloud was heading across the sky on the opposite side, with a lovely pink glow just above Godrevy itself.
At moments like this it's almost impossible to tear oneself away from a scene as calm and beautiful as this, no matter how hungry you are nor how much you're looking forward to another hour of splendid confusion in front of the television. But it was Sunday evening and almost 9pm - and the dreaded return to a new term at work awaited me the following morning so dutifully I retraced those final yards to my car and headed home.
Another week is more than halfway through and an evening with the wide angle lens beckons on the beach at low tide tomorrow. All is well in my contented little world. Happy hump day folks.